


And that’s Shakespeare, by the way.

by anchoredaboard



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dean is smart ok, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Professor!Castiel, Student!Dean, dont try to act like hes not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anchoredaboard/pseuds/anchoredaboard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean should be finishing up his requirements for his computer science degree, but there's a little mix-up in his classes that starts as inconvenient, turns into a social justice speech, and ends with a date with a stomach-flutter-causing professor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This was an accident

**Author's Note:**

> Dean is smart, dammit! Also, I know this isn't exactly how college works, but this is fiction so nyeh.
> 
> Tumblr: iknowwhathtebluebirdssingatyou

Dean Winchester got to the classroom with a minute to spare. Bad idea to be late to class on the first day, even if it was his senior year.

"Oi, Winchester!" He looked around to see a familiar blonde head with a cocky smile. His brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Jo? How did you get in this class?" 

She raised an eyebrow and replied dryly, "I signed up for it, just like every freshie in here. 'Cept you."

The professor chose that moment to walk in the door, dark hair ruffled and tie ridiculously crooked. A few snickers echoed around the room, and Dean shook his head before he sat down next to Jo and pulled out his receipt of classes. He had almost left it at home, but he was glad he didn't because what should be COMP-SCI-IV was COMP-ENG-I. Weren't these courses supposed to be numbered completely different from each other? Just because the first four letters were the same shouldn't mean this mistake should be possible. He groaned before thrusting the paper at Jo, head in his hands. He should leave, but the way the professor was stumbling over roll was strangely endearing. He should head right to registration and sort this out, but when the professor called his name, and he looked up, hand raised to indicate he was here (albeit on accident), the striking blue glance that he got riveted him to his seat.

"Well, welcome to, uh, English C-composition One. I'm Cas- uh Professor Novak, and-" he stumbled as he tried to round his desk, bumping it and spilling a huge stack of papers across the floor up front.

"And-and save it, s-stutter box. No one here cares. We're here because we have to be." Some boy in the back thought he was funny. His friends seemed to agree.

"Hey, shut up," Dean called back to them, not even bothering to turn around. Cocky, rude freshman were not worth the effort, but someone needed to stand up for the guy. Professor Novak looked mortified, his face white as a sheet.

A chorus of ooohs echoed back to him, and the subtle scraping of a chair told him the arrogant shit had stood up. He shared an exasperated look with Jo. Here we go, it said.

"Make me, chuck. All I'm saying is, we came here for a quality post-secondary education and we're not going to get that from an English teacher who can barely-"

Dean turned around in his chair to interrupt, "Sit your ass down, you ain't got nothing to say."

"No, I don't think so, and I'm not going to have some plaid-wearing country bumpkin throwing y'alls and ain'ts at me when his SAT score probably isn't higher than the number of bones in the human body. And that's 206, by the way."

Dean went very still. Beside him Jo raised her hand to her mouth, shocked and fully aware of what Dean's reaction was going to be. The room was dead silent as he slowly stood up to face the smirking fuckboy.

"You're going to have to forgive my casual verbal usage of colloquial slang, since we all couldn't be born into a background as pathetic as yours. With my aforementioned statement, I was simply implying that someone so sanctimonious as you, who thinks himself so much higher than anyone who doesn’t speak like him, doesn’t deserve an opinion in a room, a society, of people who are here to be accepted because of their differences, and if we allow self-important discriminators like you to live their lives unchecked, then we allow ourselves to wallow in the bigotry your persona perpetuates. What has this taught us kids? Thou art unfit for any place but hell. And that’s Shakespeare, by the way.” Every one of the words out of his mouth was dripping in a quiet sort of viciousness he saved for kids who picked on Sammy, fuckboys who thought it was funny to mess with Jo, and, evidently, ballsy, conceited freshman who thought it was fun to make fun of people’s speech patterns.

Jo smirked beside him as he sat down. The asshat behind him hadn’t moved from his wide-eyed, gaped-mouth standing stare that had overtaken him as soon as Dean had dropped the word “sanctimonious.”

Jo casually twisted around in her seat to address the fresh-tard, “Like he said, sit your ass down, you ain’t got nothin to say.”

It was a tentative sort of silence that hung in the air. No one moved, and they all looked anywhere except Dean, including Professor Novak, who was staring very intently at the floor.

“Would you like me to help you pick those up Professor? They’re the syllabi, right?” Jo asked him kindly.

“Oh, uh,” he seemed to suddenly remember the mess on the floor, “Yes, please, that- that would be very k-kind.”

The rest of the class passed without anything else terribly eventful, unless you call diving head first into a crush on the professor eventful. Dean had known as soon as he had seen those blue eyes that he would spend the rest of the block fantasizing about them, but holy hell, he did not realise how deep he would get. The man had inhuman hair, gorgeous lips and an even more tantalizing tongue, a perfect ass, and when he handed Dean a syllabus, their hands brushed and Dean’s stomach did flips. Whoops.

After class, he knew he had to go to registration. The cute professor was not worth not getting his degree because he was in a freshman English instead of senior computer science. He headed straight out, because if he didn’t, he might be tempted to stay and chat.

“Wait! Uh, Dean!” an increasingly familiar and devastatingly gorgeous voice called after him in the hall. Professor Novak caught up to him, slightly out of breath for jogging to make up the distance. “I just, uh, wanted to thank you for that… this, this was my first class and-”

“It wasn’t a problem, Professor,” Dean replied with a smile that would have been much easier if he wasn’t preoccupied with that goddamn hair. He pulled himself back to the conversation in time to catch Professor Novak staring at his mouth before he realised and quickly looked away. Dean’s brain stopped. He could have been imagining it, but the flush spreading across his face was definitely real. Dean braced himself with the little hope that gave him and decided to leap.

“Would you like to get a coffee or, like, lunch sometime?” God, could that have sounded more desperate?

The man’s blue eyes widened. “Oh, uh, n-no, I couldn’t, you’re my student, and, uh…” He trailed off. The drop that Dean’s heart had taken at the denial lifted at the reason, and he smiled.

“Well, ya see Professor, I won’t be your student for much longer. I’m headed to registration now to switch out.” Professor Novak looked confused, and kind of hurt, so Dean rushed to add, “I’m actually a senior, and I should be in Comp-sci four, not English-comp one. Not because I don’t like your class or anything.”

Funny how tension seemed to leak out of Novak’s shoulders smoothly, until he smiled back, just a corner of his mouth, as if it was strange or funny that this was making him smile.

“In that case, I, uh, think I’ll take you up on that. You can call me Cas, then.” He bit his lip, self conscious, or nervous again.

Time for a smooth one liner to lighten the mood. “Well, Cas, you’re gorgeous-” He stopped. That wasn’t right, that was brutally honest and not smooth at all. “I, uh, I gotta go. Registration. Comp Sci. Uh…” Shit, now he was the one freaking out. The butterflies in his stomach were going insane. No, not butterflies, phoenixes that burned his insides the same crimson as his face. He turned to go. 

“How about one? The little cafe on the south side of campus?” Cas called after him.

He turned and walked backwards as he replied, “Definitely!” He turned back around and almost ran into a couple of sophomore girls headed to class. His face turned redder. Jesus, he had it bad.


	2. This wasn't planned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok dammit i wrote one from Cas' pov.

Castiel Novak stood in his new office, taking deep breaths as the clock ticked closer and closer to his first class. It was just English Comp I. It shouldn't be too hard. Right?

He had spent the early morning preparing, making sure attendance lists were in order, practicing his introduction in his head; all copies of the syllabus were on his desk ready to go and all alarms were set on his phone so he wouldn't be late. He was going to be a successful professor. He was determined.

The shrill bell sounded on his phone, signalling the time for his departure to his first class. Already? His thoughts turned frantic, his heart beginning to race. He told himself, it would be fine, chanted it over and over as he made his way to the classroom.

It was not going to be okay. There were so many of them. He should have signed up to teach the smaller, rarely taken classes, like that 'Shakespeare through the eyes of a Latin speaker' class the dean had been telling him about. Three people had signed up for that.

As he walked to his desk, quiet snickers echoed around the room and went straight to his head. This was going to be terrible, he knew it. He began to call roll behind his desk, stumbling over the first name right away. Christopher Anthony. What was so hard about that? He fumbled his way down the list, names like clumsy rocks on his tongue as he tried to get them out. He glanced up from the list at every name only if there wasn’t an immediate verbal answer and only long enough to make sure someone was indicating that they were here. He didn’t hear anything at the last name, so he looked up to see a pair of gorgeous green eyes in the second row with a look on his face that told Castiel that this was the last place he wanted to be. It made something pool in his stomach, making more nervous. It felt like the color of steel, stabbing him as he tried to introduce himself.

"Well, welcome to, uh, English C-composition One. I'm Cas- uh Professor Novak, and-" the words tripped him up as he tried to get around his desk and the pile of syllabi that he had so meticulously straightened earlier that morning came spilling down all over the floor.

"And-and save it, s-stutter box. No one here cares. We're here because we have to be." A loud, confident voice towards the back mocked him and called out his fears. He felt the blood drain out of his face, frozen where he was.

"Hey, shut up," another boy called back. What was his name? The one with the gorgeous green eyes and freckles. He zoned out, his brain very intent on the one thing he really shouldn’t be focusing on right now.

The boy was standing up. The room had gone very quiet, and the first boy was also standing, smirking down at… Dean. Dean was his name. What had happened?

"You're going to have to forgive my casual verbal usage of colloquial slang, since we all couldn't be born into a background as pathetic as yours. With my aforementioned statement, I was simply implying that someone so sanctimonious as you, who thinks himself so much higher than anyone who doesn’t speak like him, doesn’t deserve an opinion in a room, a society, of people who are here to be accepted because of their differences, and if we allow self-important discriminators like you to live their lives unchecked, then we allow ourselves to wallow in the bigotry your persona perpetuates. What has this taught us kids? Thou art unfit for any place but hell. And that’s Shakespeare, by the way.”  Oh shit. He just burned that kid, defending… defending him. He still couldn’t move as a slow warmth spread from his toes at the realisation that someone had stood up for him, a student to another student.

“Would you like me to help you pick those up Professor? They’re the syllabi, right?” He snapped back to the classroom again. The girl next to Dean had offered to help him what? Pick up the syllabi. That he had knocked off his desk. All over the floor.

He felt himself flushing as he began, “Oh, uh,” damn it, he was still stumbling over his words, “Yes, please, that- that would be very k-kind.”

The girl got up, and Dean followed her down, and the three of them gathered up the papers until another pile sat on the corner of his desk, ready to hand out. He grabbed some and began handing them out. When his hand brushed Dean’s he felt little electric bolts travelling up his arm. This was not good. He couldn’t be falling for a student, even a student with lips like those. No! None of those thoughts.

The rest of the teaching block was certainly less stressful than the start, because he found his rhythm. He knew English, and writing, and this class was going to too. He assigned essays, answered questions, and pointedly did not look at Dean animatedly talking to the girl next to him, and definitely did not notice how his eyes lit up when he got excited about something or scrunched his nose when he grimaced. Definitely not.

As soon as the block was over, Dean was out the door. Cas put down the papers he was holding to hurry out after him. He needed to thank him.

“Wait! Uh, Dean!”he jogged to catch up him halfway down the hall “I just, uh, wanted to thank you for that… this, this was my first class and-”

“It wasn’t a problem, Professor,” Dean replied with a breathtaking smile, like he had simply held the door open for Cas instead of probably saving him from running out of the class and never coming back. God, those lips would keep him awake at night. He noticed that he was looking, and to his mortification, Dean noticed. Shit, it was about to get awkward.

“Would you like to get a coffee or, like, lunch sometime?” Dean asked, definitely sounding awkward, but not nearly in the way Cas had thought he would. And yes, he would love to, he would love to watch those eyes light, listen to what got this boy excited, ask about that Richard III reference that Cas had barely caught in his terrified reverie. But.

“Oh, uh, n-no, I couldn’t, you’re my student, and, uh…” Great, he was stuttering again. And while Dean’s face dropped in disappointed (and how could that make him fall so much more for a boy he’d barely met?), it wasn’t for long.

“Well, ya see Professor, I won’t be your student for much longer. I’m headed to registration now to switch out,” he explained. Oh. It was probably for the best, what with the attraction Cas felt towards him, and now that he knew it was at least somewhat mutual, things might get messy. But, the guy didn’t know that when he decided to switch out. He just knew that the class had been terrible. His disappointment must have shown on his face because Dean hastened to add, “I’m actually a senior, and I should be in Comp-sci four, not English-comp one. Not because I don’t like your class or anything.” Which was considerably uplifting. Not only was he not leaving because Professor Novak’s English Comp I was a complete failure, but he wasn’t going to be his student anymore. Which meant… A smile crept to the corner of his mouth, a little strange, but welcome nonetheless.

“Well, Cas, you’re gorgeous-” He cut himself off, looking like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He looked absolutely stricken as he tried to backpedal out of it, “I, uh, I gotta go. Registration. Comp Sci. Uh…” His face was turning red, and he was struggling over his words like Cas had been not half a minute ago. He turned to leave, and Cas smiled at his back. It was kind of cute. Then he realised they hadn’t actually set up a date, and that needed to be reconciled immediately.

“How about one? The little cafe on the south side of campus?” Cas called after his retreating back. His second class was done at 12:30 and he didn’t have another one until 3

Dean turned around to reply, “Definitely!” and then almost ran into a group of girls coming around the corner. They giggled as they made their way down the hall into Cas’ classroom for ‘Critical Readings of Melville.’

He smiled as he turned to follow them, knowing that starting this class wouldn’t be nearly as bad as the last one. He had something to look forward to.


End file.
